


For the Good Shampoo - WIP Amnesty

by checkthemargins



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Coming Out, M/M, WIP Amnesty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-02
Updated: 2013-11-02
Packaged: 2017-12-31 06:34:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1028395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/checkthemargins/pseuds/checkthemargins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry is a popstar in world famous boy band One Direction. Louis's the weirdo he finds sprawled in the courtyard outside Nick's house.</p>
            </blockquote>





	For the Good Shampoo - WIP Amnesty

**Author's Note:**

> Hello hello! This is about 18k of Harry/Louis that's quite sappy and a bit sad and that unfortunately I'm not ever going to finish. However I got so much of it that I wanted to do SOMETHING, so thank God for the WIP amnesty tag. 
> 
> Special thanks to Nika/Flimsy for encouragement etc. since the beginning!
> 
> Disclaimer: One Direction & Co. belong to themselves and certainly not to me. This is just for kicks.

_**Cupid's Crooked Arrow: Harry Styles Caught Rainbow Handed** _

_Is it a bird? Is it a plane? No, it's boy band darling Harry Styles, rocking some truly _super_ tights and a red cape as The Man of Steel himself. Seems like the world's biggest boy band might be in for a name change (Two Directions, anyone?) because that's certainly not Lois Lane that's got him lip-locked and tongue-tied._

_Styles, 19, Britain's most notorious womanizer was caught K-I-S-S-I-N-G a very sexy, very _male_ Zorro at London's biggest – and most exclusive – charity masquerade ball last night. And this picture's just a little too clear to deny._

_"They weren't trying to hide it," says our insider. "They weren't even very drunk, it was still the beginning of the night. They were just dancing and talking and having a good time, and then Harry just laid one on him right there in the middle of the floor!"_

_Not very subtle, Hazza._

_Within an hour of the big event, nearly every social networking site known to man exploded with pictures of the kiss from every angle. Styles, who two years ago had a passionate, semi-scandalous fling with super hot model Caroline Flack, took to Twitter not long after. _My dance card has always been open.__

_The zealots are gathering their pitch forks, but we are utterly charmed. We're only disappointed that out and proud beffie Nick Grimshaw was #confirmed on the other side of world – Zorro has yet to be unmasked._

_Has Harry been hiding his true identity from us all this time, a la Clark Kent? Or is there more to this than meets the eye? Whatever the case, Harry, we here at SugarScape have your back. And your front. Whoever you happen to be rubbing it against."_

 

It's been dubbed _The Photograph_.

Usually, when Harry sees candid pictures of himself, he has next to no memory of doing what it is he's now been immortalized doing. He once read a six-hundred word analysis on how he and other lads were being overworked as proven by a snapshot of Harry frowning and pale and tripping over a bump in the street he'd been walking along. It was so convincing that for a full day after reading he'd caught himself ranting to Niall about being run ragged, before he'd remembered that it was their first day of work in three weeks and he hadn't been worn down, he'd been hungover.

The moment caught in this snapshot, however, he remembers. Because it had been a good night, and a good kiss, and he and Zorro had gotten off together in the coat closet not too long after that. His costume had been amazing, and his single, iconic Superman curl over his forehead had been spot on. It feels like it was month ago, not just forty-eight hours.

Lou has the SugarScape article – picture included – printed out and taped to one of her hard cases. She's fussing with his hair now, because the other boys are all set and they're due out for an interview in a few minutes. He's got Nick, just back in town from his Cancun vacation, on Skype. His laptop is balanced precariously on the vanity. Nick looks the good kind of tired and like he's trying not to laugh.

"Are they allowed to ask you about it?" he asks Harry, sipping at what looks like a cup of tea. Harry could really go for a cup of tea.

"Yeah. That's mostly why they booked the interview."

"Do you know what you're going to say?"

Harry shrugs. "Yeah, mostly. I mean, I m just going to be honest."

Nick clicks his tongue, looking wistful. "I'm _so_ disappointed I was gone and they know it wasn't me. I _love_ it when they think it's me. Our tag on Tumblr is so upset, Harold."

Harry frowns thoughtfully, and holds his head still so Lou can rub product through his curls. "Our...what?"

"You're so sweet," says Lou, and it sounds almost like an insult.

Nick openly scoffs. "Our tag, Harry! Our Tumblr tag! _Gryles_ , and _Stymshaw!_ Our fans are beside themselves."

"I never understood that saying," Harry muses. "Like, would being beside oneself be upsetting?" He winces when Lou's fingers snag in a curl, and then smiles when she apologizes. "Well, I reckon it would be quite disconcerting, having there be two of you all the sudden."

Nick stares at him for a long time, and then says, "Tch. I'm going to casually mention that I own a Zorro costume on the show sometime, once this all blows over. They'll perk right up. They'll think I flew back to London for just one night to go to the ball with you. They'll think it's so romantic. It's _so_ romantic, popstar."

"You own a Zorro costume?"

Lou laughs, and Harry manages to keep a straight face until Nick makes a disgusted sound and disconnects. He closes his laptop, grinning at her in the mirror of the vanity. She's just about finished with him when a huge racket sounds outside, and the dressing room door bursts open. Paul walks in, Niall clung to his back like a monkey, and Liam and Zayn trailing behind. Zayn's on his phone, probably talking to his mum because his voice is quiet but not the way it usually is when he's talking to Perrie. Liam already has his mic pinned to his shirt.

"They've got us a sofa to sit on," he tell Harry. He looks concerned. The night of the party, when the picture got posted online, he was so worried about Harry's state of mind that Harry had to go over to his flat and calm him down, instead of the other way around. "Do you want to be in the middle?"

Harry slides out of the makeup chair when Lou taps him on the shoulder to let him know she's done. He rubs the back of his neck ruefully. "Is it okay if I take an end? I'd really rather not, like. Draw so much attention to myself."

Niall laughs wildly. Paul's sat down on the sofa in an attempt to knock him loose from his back, and is now squirming around to crush Niall into the cushions. Harry can't see his face but he catches a tuft of blond hair and Niall's flailing arms. "That'll throw 'em, that will. Sitting on the end will take the attention right off you. I reckon they'll even forget you're there."

Harry sticks his tongue out at him, and Liam laughs too, looking calmer. Their PR person, Ana, pokes her head into the room. "Five minutes boys, let's get to the stage."

Harry sits on the end, next to Zayn, who immediately puts and arm around him and lets him lean into his side. Niall, on Zayn's other side, gives Harry and winsome grin and an awkwardly positioned hug. Liam's out of reach mostly, so they fist bump. When their interviewer sits down across from them and they start the countdown to air time, Harry takes a deep breath. He is who he is. He's not about to apologize for it.

 

 

There's a boy on the ground in the courtyard outside Nick's flat.

For a moment, Harry thinks he might be hallucinating, but then he catches sight of a few of the people milling about gesturing to the boy and looking quite as confused as Harry feels. None of them seem to actually _know_ the boy. He's just lying there alone on his back, close to an empty bench, while passersby give him a wide berth when they walk by. It's barely half eight, and Harry has no plans and an intrinsic love of odd things, so he wanders across the street as casually as possible and lopes right up to the boy, leaning over a bit so he's in the boy's line of sight. The boy is wearing tight jeans rolled up to bare his ankles and red Vans on his rather small feet, and a white Rolling Stones t-shirt with the sleeves rolled. He's small and curvy and has bright blue eyes and messy light brown hair. He looks up at Harry without moving.

"Hey," says Harry.

The boy smiles politely. "Hello."

Harry lifts his hand to his mouth, biting a bit at the hangnail he discovered earlier, because now that he's noticed it it's started to hurt. He tears it off with his teeth, makes a hurt little noise at the pull, and flicks it away. The boy watches, lips still curled into a small grin. Harry smiles back at him.

"What're you doing, then?"

"Hmmm," the boys says. He takes a long, deep breath and lets it out in a heavy sigh, looking very serious. His gaze flickers away from Harry for only a moment, "I'm having an existential crisis."

Harry blinks down at him slowly. "Oh."

The boy sighs again. "If a tree falls in the forest, and no one is around to hear it, does it make a sound?"

Hm. Harry asks, "So are you the tree then?"

The boy looks at him for a very long time before he answers. "Yes."

Harry scrunches his nose, thinking, and then bends down further and pokes the boy right in the middle of his soft little belly. The boy gasps, squeaks, and curls up like a woodlouse all at once. It's a _fantastic_ reaction, and he looks up at Harry with his surprised eyebrows in place and an involuntary tickle smile on his face. It's so satisfying that Harry feels his mouth pull into a smile.

"Well, you made a sound."

The boy looks thoughtful, still half-curled. "But you were here to hear it."

Harry tilts his head, considering. "I suppose I was."

"Hm," says the boy.

"Hm," says Harry.

The boy gets to his feet. He's short, and small at the shoulders and waist and has a quite curvy bum and thighs. His hair is rumpled from lying on the ground. He's tan and his eyes crinkle at the corners with his smile. Harry's already infatuated.

"I'm Louis."

Harry wets his throat. He's not used to people not knowing who he is. It feels like it's been a very long time since he's had to introduce himself. "Harry."

They shake hands. Harry lets go almost reluctantly.

"All right then. C'mon Harry, I need shampoo." He starts to walk away. Harry is too bewildered to move, staring after him until Louis turns back when realizes he's not being followed and gives Harry an expectant look, like he thinks Harry is being dumb. "Well?"

Harry looks across the street to Nick's flat, and then behind him, down the road toward his house. He has no idea who this weird boy is. It's incredible how appealing that is. He catches Louis up.

Louis seems to know where he's going. He makes a decisive turn at the corner of Nick's street. He's humming quietly under his breath. Harry keeps glancing at him out of the corner of his eye. "Do you live 'round here?" he asks. He's never seen Louis before, but Primrose Hill isn't very small, and Harry doesn't wander around very often on his own.

"No, I just come here once a month or so for shampoo. Primrose Hill is a bit hipster, innit?" Louis looks Harry over, and then reaches up to gently flick the brim of the straw fedora Harry's wearing. "You fit right in. You must live nearby."

Harry laughs, pushing his hands into the pockets of his jeans and shrugging. "Awfully judgmental of you."

They cross over a bridge, and Harry's about to step out onto the street at the other side of it when Louis pulls him back by the wrist. "Car," he says, just before one zooms by. Harry clears his throat, sudden adrenaline making his heart pound.

"Thanks." He clears his throat, sheepish. "I'm a bit clumsy."

Louis looks up at him, brow furrowed and smiling, like Harry's something fascinating, instead of really just a bit of an idiot. "That doesn't make any sense, does it? You weren't about to fall into the street. You just weren't paying attention." He looks down at Harry's feet. "You're quite pigeon-toed though, and you've got big feet. You're probably clumsy as well."

"I am," Harry agrees.

"Dangerous way to be if you're going to be walking around with your head in the clouds."

"I live life on the edge."

Louis grins, and then leads them across the street, and then through a crosswalk. He leads Harry past the tube station. "I am very judgmental, though," says Louis. "You should know that about me if we're going to be friends. It's a character flaw I'm trying to work on. I'm not trying very hard, to be honest."

"Oh. Right." Harry's feeling a little off-kilter. He feels like he should offer up one of his flaws, too, to balance things out, but he's afraid to say too much about himself lest Louis find out who he is. Not that it would matter, really, but it's sort of nice being bossed around and not referred to as Mr. Styles. So instead, he says, "We're going to be friends then?' and hopes he doesn't sound too eager.

Louis looks at him. He bounces a bit when he walks, like he puts more pressure on the balls of his feet than his heels. He's short enough that his bobbing is noticeable and endearing. He flicks his fringe out of his face carelessly. It immediately falls back to where it was. "Of course we're going to be friends, Harry. I was the tree and you...What's the word?"

"Perceived?"

"Right, right. Word of the day! You perceived me." He smiles confidently.

Harry smiles right back."I feel a bit like I've walked into a children's book."

"Don’t be silly," Louis says loftily. "You're the one who talked to me first. I was minding my own business. If anything, I'm the one that's been walked into something."

"You were lying alone in a courtyard," Harry points out.

"I told you, I was having an existential crisis. Which you helped me solve. I'm glad you spoke to me."

It makes Harry feel a bit warm and embarrassed and happy. He opens his mouth to reply. He's not sure what's going to come out, 'you're welcome' or 'me too', but Louis stops suddenly and crowds him into a shop before he can say anything at all.

It's a very posh salon. There's a shelf of products along the wall in the waiting area, and the girl at the front counter, dressed in all black, smiles at Louis. And then she looks at Harry and her jaw sort of drops. Harry's heart sinks, because his cover is about to be blown. He's trying not to frown too noticeably, but Louis snorts next to him, watching him closely.

"I already know who you are, y'know," he says.

Harry's speechless again. It takes him a long time to wrap his head around it. "You do?"

"Of course. You're my phone background." He shakes his mobile in front of Harry's face.

"Really?"

"God no. My background is Spider-Man. But I know who you are."

Harry laughs, and it seems to break the tension all together, because the girl smiles shakily at them and finds her voice again. "Could I get either of you some wine?" she asks.

Harry shakes his head. "I'm fine, thanks."

Louis's already wandered over to the product wall. He scans the shelves and then gets up onto his tip toes, reaching for a shampoo bottle on the shelf second from the top. Harry doesn't hear what the woman responds, eying the strip of skin Louis's shirt has pulled up to reveal, the sliver of his belly as he twists, trying to get higher by standing on the toes of one foot instead of both. His fingers are barely brushing the bottle. Harry crosses over to him and plucks it from the shelf, having to get on his own toes to do it. Louis never really had a chance.

"Thanks," Louis says, a bit grumpily.

"Anytime," says Harry.

"Conditioner too, please?" He tilts his head and pulls his shoulders up, coy, and Harry grins, rolls his eyes and grabs the conditioner for him too.

It's not until they're outside, walking back the way they came, Louis swinging the bag from the salon back and forth between them that Harry thinks to ask, "Do you get your hair cut there, then?"

"No way," says Louis, wrinkling his nose. "It's so overpriced."

"And you don't live nearby."

"Nowhere nearby. I'm in Bloomsbury. I'm hungry. Shall we get dinner?"

They're stopped, waiting for the light to cross the road again, back toward Nick's area. Louis turns to face him expectantly. Harry's so curious. "Is that brand of shampoo only sold at that one salon?"

"No," says Louis. "There's a shop right down the road from my flat that sells it." He squints across the road, toward a pub that's always very busy. "Is that place good?"

Harry is baffled. "I. Um. Don't...know?"

Louis regards him with a sharp little smile. "A bit too mainstream for you, hipster Styles?"

"You're judging again," Harry tells him.

"Right, sorry," says Louis, not sounding sorry at all. "I want to go there, whether it's good or not. There are a lot of people, it must be good."

Harry can't seem to stop smiling. "Just because it's popular?"

"Yes."

It's honest, at least. Louis's pretty and funny and mouthy and weird. Harry nods decisively. "Okay."

Harry's never been to this pub. It's incredibly crowded and a lot of people stare when they walk in. Harry does his best to hunch his shoulders and duck his head, smiling if he's pointed at too noticeably. Louis doesn't seem concerned. He clears his throat loudly at people standing in the way of the bar and squeezes through tight spaces. Harry mumbles excuse me politely to everyone they pass, feeling weird the way he always does when he's being stared at in confined spaces. He's so distracted trying not to accidentally smack someone or step on anyone's feet that he doesn't notice when Louis stops abruptly and runs into his back with a quiet 'oof'.

Louis looks around at him, eyebrow raised. Harry shrugs. "Clumsy, remember?"

"Hm," says Louis. There's only one person ahead of them at the bar, and the menu is written on a chalkboard overhead. Louis rocks up onto his toes to read it. He seems strangely aware of his height, like it bothers him. Harry's always liked smaller lads. He nudges at the bottom of Louis's shoe with his toe and looks innocently at the menu, hands clasped behind his back, when Louis scowls back at him. 

"I always get pizza," says Harry. He unfolds his hands so he can scratch at a spot on his neck that's been bothering him. "At pubs, I mean. I really like pub pizza."

Louis is so quiet that Harry looks down at him, wondering if he's still there. Louis's just staring at him, a soft sort of expression on his face. Harry crosses his eyes and sticks out his tongue. Louis laughs. He has a nice laugh.

"I think that burger looks good," he says, pointing. It's the only burger on the menu and it does sound delicious.

Harry frowns. "Oh, that does look really good."

"Don't sound so sad, Harry." Louis reaches back to pat him on the arm. "We'll get one pizza and one burger and we'll split them."

"Brilliant," says Harry.

The person in front of them moves, and Louis steps up to the bar and gives their order. He opens a tab before Harry can protest and accepts two pints of Stella from the smiling bartender. He passes one to Harry.

"I see a table," Louis says, getting to his toes again to point over Harry's head. "In the back there." They make a go for it, but a couple of girls sit down before they're close enough. Harry stops and Louis runs into him, this time, and then looks around Harry to the girls. "Ah, that's all right, there's seating outside."

"We can move!" one of the girls says, absolutely breathless. Harry smiles, because she goes very red.

"No, no," he says. "We'll be fine."

"Really!" the other girl adds, standing up. "We just took this one for a minute, we've got more people coming and this is just for two. We'll have to move anyway."

Harry wets his lips. "Really, you can—"

"Too late!" says the first one, pushing her blond hair out of her face. They're young and cute, both of them, holding a bottle of Corona each. "We're moving. But...could we just..?"

She takes out her mobile from her purse and Harry grins hugely. "Yeah, yeah of course."

He takes a picture with each of them, and then both of them together. He gives them both a hug and a kiss on the cheek and waves at them when they slip back into the crowd. Louis's already sitting when he turns back around. He's got his hands folded under his chin and is watching Harry appraisingly. Harry drops into the seat opposite him, feeling his ears burn.

"Sorry," he says.

"What for?"

Harry frowns. "I, um, don't really know?"

Louis smiles like he can't help it, shaking his head a little. He unfolds his hands and takes a long sip of his beer. "You're proper famous, then."

Harry laughs, rolling his eyes at himself, his life, how much it's changed in the last three years. "Yeah, I guess. Not just me, I mean, the other lads too."

"You know I knew that, really. My sisters were mad about you lot. I must've played you a dozen times in their weddings. "'s a bit weird seeing it in real life though."

"Played me?"

"Y'know, make believe. You were Phoebe's favorite, and I had this old curly black wig from a costume party years back she used to make me put on."

"Past tense," Harry says, trying to pout through his smile. "They've already forgotten about me?"

"Yeah, mate, they won a contest to meet Justin Bieber and it was all over for you."

"Damn," Harry winces.

"Fame is a fickle friend, Harry," Louis says sagely. Harry snorts into his pint glass, swallows before he chokes.

"You just quoted Harry Potter at me."

"What're you gonna do about it?" Louis replies. The pink bag holding his shampoo is perched on the table against the ketchup and chili oil bottles. Harry plays with one corner of it idly, trying to think of something clever to say.

"Probably nothing," is what comes out. He wrinkles his nose. "Sorry."

"You apologize a lot," says Louis. He reaches out and taps his index finger against one of Harry's rings. "I Googled you, a bit. While you were having your picture taken with your adoring public."

Harry blinks. "Well that was uncalled for. You could've just asked."

"I didn't know the question," Louis argues, waving a dismissive hand that makes Harry grin despite himself. "Do you know what the first hit was?"

"Harry Styles shags a Spice Girl?"

Louis gasps. "How very dare you!" he says. And then, "Did you really?"

"No!" Harry laughs, shoving at the fingers still prodding at his rings, which turns into a half-hearted slap fight that gets both their hands covered in beer. "Go on, then, what's the first hit?"

Louis dabs at their hands with a napkin, and then gives Harry a significant look. "'Harry Styles Gay for Pay."

"Bullshit!" Harry says, louder than he means to. Louis looks both appalled and impressed when half the pub looks around at them. Harry grabs for Louis's mobile and Louis squirrels it away before he can get it. "Is it that porno that has my look alike?"

"Good lord, you have a look alike in porn?"

"Give it!" Harry demands. He feels a little hysterical, far more amused than he probably should. "I want to see."

"All right, all right!" Louis says, blue eyes crinkled at the corners with laughter. "Give me a second! You're like a toddler!"

"You have no high ground, you Googled me on our first date."

Louis huffs, but unlocks his phone and hands it to Harry. It's not nearly as fun as he thought it might be, just a link to an article about his impromptu coming out and the possibility that he's not actually...whatever he is, but that he did it for the publicity. He sighs, wishing he wasn't so affected by this sort of thing. He hands Louis his mobile back. Louis's eyebrows draw together.

"Grumpy baby," he says, pushing his lower lip out. It makes Harry laugh. This guy makes him _laugh_ and it feels really good. "Why the face?"

Harry shrugs, pinching his lower lip between his thumb and forefinger. "Just. I mean I'm used to it now, people like. Deciding my motivation for doing something. I should be, anyway. It shouldn't get to me that some random journalist somewhere in the world thinks I would do something like that for publicity."

Louis props his chin in his hand, expression easy, sort of blank. "Something just like that, or something at all?"

"Something like that...that I'd lie about my sexuality for attention. I've done publicity stunts, I'm not on a high horse about it, but encouraging people to believe I'm dating someone is different than like..." He doesn't know how to word it, the way it feels, that he'd lie about something that he takes so seriously. People give him a hard time, sometimes, say he's naïve and idealistic and _you're just so young, Harry_. He doesn't know how to convince them that his 'idealism' isn't something he's going to grow out of.

Louis clears his throat, and Harry realizes he's been staring into space for the last couple minutes, pinching at his lip. He drops his hand and apologizes. Louis got that softer, fond look on his face again. "You're the worst...what's the word...orator ever. Worst storyteller. Can hardly finish a sentence."

"Hey," says Harry, trying to frown and mostly failing. He balls up a napkin and throws it at Louis. It hits him in the center of the forehead.

"Luckily, I think I could become fluent in Harry Styles easily."

Harry smiles for him, warm and squirming inside. "Yeah?"

Louis smiles again like he can't help it, and then rolls his eyes at himself. "Yeah. I think I get you."

Harry laughs. "That's not fair! I don't get you at all!"

Louis shrugs. "I'm not hard to figure out. I'm quite normal, really. Just a normal boy from Doncaster."

"Might be from Doncaster, mate, but you're _anything_ but normal."

Louis raises an eyebrow. "You love that, don't you?"

Harry huffs a laugh. "A little bit, yeah."

"I've seduced you with my weirdness, haven't I? You can't lie to me Harry Styles. You want to put it in me."

Harry laughs so loud he startles the people at the table next to him. He slaps a hand over his mouth and watches Louis's whole face crinkle up with his smile. "You couldn't possibly know that."

Louis looks affronted. "Have you seen my bum?"

Harry doesn't answer fast enough, because Louis stands up and turns around to present his backside, bending a bit at the waist and cupping his beautiful round bum in his hands. Harry can hardly breathe from laughing, eyes stinging with it, his face hurting. He puts two fingers in his mouth and whistles, loudly, not even caring at the load of people staring at them now. Louis turns back around smugly and drops into his seat. Their food arrives before Harry's able to stop giggling like a schoolboy. He waits for their waitress to leave, Louis thanking her politely.

"You're ridiculous," he says. His pizza smells delicious. Louis's burger looks just as good. Louis's already unwrapped his knife from his napkin and is cutting the burger in half. He pauses to give Harry a significant look.

"'m not wrong though, am I?"

"You have a fantastic arse."

"And?"

Harry sighs, helplessly smitten. "And I wanna put it in you."

Louis smirks. "Thought as much. Here, give us a slice of that, yeah?"

Neither of them are particularly sober by the time they leave. Harry puts up a fight about paying for all their drinks (and there were many) and their dinner, but Louis shoves his fingers into Harry's mouth to shut him up while he closes out his tab and it's so shocking that Harry just stands there. He's signed quite a few autographs in the last three hours, and had even more pictures taken. He's likely to be raked over the coals for it later but he's surprisingly all right with that.

He and Louis are holding each other up as they leave the pub, and it's nearly half eleven so it's rather quiet. Harry knows better-knows that cameras are _everywhere_. It doesn't stop him from leaning heavily into Louis's side.

"That last one," says Louis. "The bloke in the spotty jumper—"

"It wasn't _spotty_ , Lou, it was just green—"

"With spots!" Louis insists. It was a solid green jumper. Louis is _crazy_. Harry laughs gleefully, head spinning, as Louis goes on. They'd been playing a game, choosing people in the pub and creating their life stories. Louis's very creative. "His name is Herman Shnop—Shoplighter."

He hiccups, actually hiccups, like a drunk cartoon character, and Harry almost drags them both down to the street from laughing so hard.

"Shut up, shut up, God you're all arms!" says Louis urgently.

"What does he do then?" says Harry. He pushes a finger into Louis's cheek, watches it dimple around it, and then stops them so he can turn Louis to face him and poke at his little belly, as well. Louis squirms away, batting at him uselessly. He stumbles and Harry has to catch him, but it just sends them both crashing onto the sidewalk.

"A menace!" Louis shouts, cackling so hard he's having trouble breathing. Harry pats his back. "You're a drunken menace Harry Styles!"

"Sh!" Harry hushes him, covering Louis's mouth with both his hands. Louis licks his palms immediately, and Harry pulls them back, shocked.

"He's a chiropractor!" Louis shouts.

"Who?"

"Herman!"

Harry blinks at him. Louis's hair is a mess, and his cheeks are very red. He takes out his phone and snaps a picture of Harry. Harry takes his own out and snaps one of him. They share a look, and then both lean in at the same time to shove their shoulders together. Harry puts on his cheesiest smile and they both take a picture with their phones of the two of them, cheeks smushed together. Harry can feel Louis's smile. It makes his heart race.

"He's a chiropractor and he's married to a wife named Shotzy," Louis says matter-of-factly. It sounds like it took a lot of effort to say each word. Harry turns his head to see him better.

"Louis," he whispers, loudly.

"What?" Louis scream-whispers back at him.

"I want to kiss your face off," says Harry.

Louis erupts into helpless laughter again, throwing his head back. He takes Harry face between his hands and squishes his cheeks in so his lips pootch out weirdly. Harry makes a fish sound. Louis's eyes are so blue, even now in the dark. Harry wants to kiss his mouth and his cheeks and his eyelids and his eyebrows and his jaw and his neck and his tummy. He's about to start tugging at Louis's shirt when someone clears his throat behind him. He doesn't pay attention until a very familiar voice drawls, "Pardon, lads."

"Nick!" Harry says, very emotional and battling between frustrated and fond.

"Nick!" Louis shouts, because he's a good and loyal friend.

Nick is wearing a robe and slippers, standing at the top of the steps. Harry realizes with a shock that they're right outside his house. He looks up at Nick happily. "You live here!"

Nick looks tired, and adorably rumpled. "I do, yeah. You boys want to come in for a cuppa?"

Harry's going to decline, because he's a little busy, here, but Louis gasps as though he's never heard anything so good. "I would _love_ some tea," he says. Nick looks at him for a long time, and Harry's world is spinning but he thinks he sees Nick's mouth quirk into a bit of a grin.

"Well why don't you come in then?"

"All right," says Harry. Louis beams at him, and Harry smiles right back. He did good, he thinks.

 

 

When Harry wakes up, Puppy is sitting on his stomach and licking his face, and Nick is sitting cross-legged on the bed next to him, eating a bowl of cereal. Harry's head is pounding and the inside of his mouth tastes like rubbish smells.

"Hiya," says Nick, loudly, and Puppy barks even louder. Harry groans and rolls onto his side, upsetting the dog from her perch. He pushes his face into the pillow and tries to smother himself. He hears the clink of stainless steel and porcelain when Nick sets his bowl down on the bedside table, and then groans grumpily when Nick's fingers dig into his sides and then tug at his hair, and Harry laughs involuntarily and then growls grumpily and curls up under the duvet until he's only visible from the eyes up. Nick pulls his hair again and Puppy, apparently bored of them, shakes her butt and jumps off the bed and trots out of the guest bedroom, toenails clicking on the wood floor.

"Why're you so mean to me?" Harry croaks. He thinks his breath could probably fell empires right now.

"Because you and your twink friend started screaming outside my flat at half twelve when I had to get up at five thirty in the morning," Nick drawls.

Harry sits up, too quickly because it makes his head spin and his stomach lurch. Nick looks startled. "Louis!"

"Wow," says Nick.

"Oh my God, we didn't...did we? I have clothes on." He's definitely wearing a t-shirt, and his pants. His jeans are in a pile on the floor. He doesn't remember anything after laughing on the sidewalk outside, only vaguely remembers Nick standing over them and Louis's huge, bright smile.

"Are you joking?" Nick asks. "Neither of you could've gotten it up if you tried. I brought you inside and made you both drink a glass of water and then put you to bed. You curled up like kittens and passed out."

Harry laughs, part horror and part amusement, covering his mouth with his hand. "Oh God, Nick, I'm sorry." And then, belatedly, "He's not a twink!"

Nick looks startled again, and then laughs and ruffles Harry's hair. "Hazza," he says, as though Harry's being particularly dense. Harry clicks his tongue at him mutinously and shoves weakly at his shoulder. His face feels warm and he's sort of pleasantly embarrassed, just remembering last night, remembering Louis.

"Where is he?" he asks, looking around as though Louis might pop out from behind the dresser or something.

"He left two hours ago, said he had to get to a lecture."

Harry chews on his bottom lip, eying Nick worriedly. "Was he, like. Okay? Were you nice to him?"

" _Harold!_ " Nick says, mock outrage, and then he shrugs. "He stumbled into the kitchen, introduced himself and demanded I make him tea, and then complained that it was the wrong sort."

Harry grins stupidly. "Isn't he lovely?"

Nick shakes his head, looking amused. "He's cute. He's very cute. Where did he come from, anyway?"

"I met him after I left here last night. He was having an existential crisis across the street. And then we went and bought shampoo, and then had dinner. And drinks, apparently."

Nick narrows his eyes. "Did you just make that up?"

Harry frowns. "No, I don't think so."

Nick stares at him for a very long time. Harry really has to pee. He wonders if he could sneak out while Nick is busy judging him and have a wee. And possibly vomit.

"Anyway," says Nick, eventually. "He left you his number."

Harry's eyes dart to the bedside table, but there's only Harry's watch and a blue Sharpie, no note. Nick grabs his wrist and turns his arm. Louis's scrawled his number across the inside of Harry's forearm, signed his name with a smiley face. Harry thumbs over it carefully, so it doesn't smear, feels his smile pushing dimples into his cheeks. When he looks up again Nick looks disgusted.

"Look at you," he says.

"What?" Harry asks.

"You're all moon eyed over twinker bell."

"He's not a twink!" Harry says, punching Nick in the shoulder. Nick snorts and Harry leans his head on his shoulder. "Make me eggs?"

"It's one o'clock in the afternoon, Harold."

Harry frowns. He's probably got quite a lot of missed calls. He had no obligations today but being unreachable has never ended well for him. He scrubs his cheek against Nick's shoulder. "And bacon?"

Nick sighs. "Fine."

While Nick goes off to do Harry's bidding, Harry puts Louis's number into his phone and taps out a message: _it makes me feel cheap when you sneak out of bed while I'm still asleep_

He grins, pushes his hair out of his eyes, and slides out of bed. He pulls his jeans back on and smoothes out his shirt, and only as he's putting his shoes back on does he realize he's missing his hat.

"What's with the face?" Nick asks when he walks into the kitchen. It smells like bacon and Nick is the _best_.

"Left my hat at the pub."

Nick smacks his hand with the spatula when he tries to take bacon out of the pan. "You can pick it up when you leave," says Nick. He pours scrambled eggs onto a plate and pushes it across the counter to Harry. Harry beams at him and kisses his cheek.

"You complete me," he says, and draws a heart in the air with his fingers. His mobile buzzes. It's Louis, texting back. _I don't want no scrubs_

Harry laughs out loud, and then covers his mouth. Louis sends another text a second later. _ps u sleep like the dead I couldn't wake you up also ur friend nick makes shit tea_

Harry looks up at Nick, who is reading over his shoulder shamelessly. He rolls his eyes.

"Whatever. Eat your eggs and bacon and get out of my house."

 

 

Photos from last night are everywhere, of him with fans and of he and Louis sitting at their table. The caption on most of them just says "Harry with a friend last night", and he doesn't have the heart to look for anything worse. Louis looks manic in one of them, teeth bared like he's growling, and Harry looks, well, drunk, which is true enough. Beyond that, someone in the pub took a video and posted it online. The noise is horrible and it's shaky, and mostly of Louis talking with wild gesticulations and Harry laughing. The comments range from: _lol he's drunk_ to _is he on a date?_ to _omg his friend is hot! have we seen this guy before?_

He has a missed call from their PR person and a few tweets from Liam asking him if he wants to play paintball. Harry's only just managed to keep his breakfast down, but he texts back a yes anyway because Liam put like ten hopeful happy faces and Harry is a good friend. His conversation with their PR person Ana is relatively short, and he makes the call on the stroll to the pub so he can pick up his hat.

"You went out last night," she says. Harry grins.

"I did."

"With another man," she says.

"Yeah."

"And no security."

"Yeah."

She sighs. "Did anyone give you trouble?"

"No, everything was fine. What are the rags saying?"

"That you were on a date, possibly with Zorro."

"It wasn't Zorro," Harry assures her.

"But it was a date?"

Harry tilts his head, side stepping a pile of...something on the walk. "Yeah, sort of."

"There are pictures of the two of you and Nick Grimshaw."

Harry scratches his jaw, a weird feeling in his stomach. "Yeah, I saw. I didn't think about what like, being seen with me might do to him, though. Have you...I mean our fans are...motivated."

Ana sounds soothing. "I haven't seen anything more than general curiosity as to who he is. I just wanted to check on you, mostly. Is this something I should start planning for?"

"I just met him yesterday. We were drunk and walking past Nick's and Nick got us inside. Does that need a press spin? It's not like we were caught doing each other in the toilets or summat."

"Harry, I'm on your side here, remember?" she says calmly, and he immediately feels guilty.

"I'm sorry, just. Y'know. Stupid Twitter comments and stuff."

"You're fine, love, don't worry. It's been a long few weeks for you. I'll keep an eye on this, but I think general speculation will be fine. There's already a lot of it."

Harry sighs, because this is always annoying. Louis is probably going to freak if he sees all this online. "I'm sorry."

"You're allowed to have _friends_ , Harry, don't be sorry. You just have to be more aware, now. Louis is really cute."

"How do you know his name?"

Ana says, "Harry, please," and Harry snorts, rubbing a hand over his face. He's already to the pub, so he says a quick goodbye to Ana and immediately taps out a message to Louis. 

_heeey idk if you've been online but there are pics of us everywhere. I wanted to warn you. Sorry. Our fans are really intense sometimes_

He frowns, biting at his thumbnail, and then sends it anyway and goes inside. It's not very crowded on a Friday mid afternoon, so he goes directly to the bar. The same girl from last night is working and she smiles at him.

"Hi," says Harry. "I was here last night, and I think I left my hat. Did you—"

She holds up a finger to cut him off, still grinning. "Yes! We've got it in back, just a mo'."

When she comes back, she's carrying his hat in one hand and a familiar pink plastic bag in the other. "This was on your table as well. I think it belongs to the bloke you were sitting with?"

He takes them both. "Yeah, thanks."

He'll need to get Louis's shampoo to him, If Louis wants to see him again. If not he can mail it. Harry went on a date last year with a girl and had such a good time, and by the next afternoon she was getting so much unwanted attention that she'd called it off before anything could even begin. This time there are people already calling Louis a fag on the internet, and he and Harry weren't even touching in the pictures that were taken.

He's nearly home and has worked himself up into a good sulk when his mobile buzzes in his pocket. He pulls it out, thumbs over the lockpad warily.

_according to tumblr i have soulful eyes and i'm too cute for this world. direct quote. I'm going to print this out and frame it._

If he's been on Tumblr then he's no doubt seen all the speculation and hate, too, and he doesn't seem upset. Harry's so relieved that his legs almost give out. He smiles hugely, tries to tap out a reply and ends up just ringing him. Louis picks up after the second ring.

"Honestly," says Louis. "Bit clingsome, isn't it. You're supposed to wait at least eighteen hours before you call after a date."

Harry lets himself into his house, sets his keys and Louis's shampoo on the little table in the foyer, and locks the door. Then he lies down on the wood floor and stretches out, arm crossed under his head. He means to tell Louis he forgot his shampoo at the pub. "Do you want to play paintball with me and the lads tonight?" he says instead.

Louis is quiet for a second. "Tonight?"

"Yeah, it's like. It's this course about an hour away, and you play at night. You get like, these goggles and the paint is like, glow in the dark. It's a lot of fun. We'll probably go out after. And then you could come back to mine."

"You're very forward."

Harry can't stop smiling. "And you're not?"

Louis laughs, a bubbly little sound that makes Harry stupid. "I'm nothing of the sort!"

"Last night you told me you wanted me to fuck you in a swimming pool full of my money."

"Mm," says Louis. "Point. To be fair I've been searching for a sugar daddy my whole life."

"You can call me daddy if you want."

Louis laughs again, louder. Harry wishes he could see him. "I'll play paintball, then."

Harry beams at his ceiling. "Good. You left your shampoo at the pub, by the way. I picked it up for you."

"Well I suppose you should bring it to me, then," Louis drawls.

"'Course," says Harry. "Anytime."

Louis's quiet for a moment, the silence almost uncertain, and then he says, "Christ," and, half-hopeful and half-resigned, "Are you busy right now?"

Harry's whole body feels tingly. He rolls onto his side and pulls his knees up to his chest, smiling helplessly, his cheek burning against the cool floor. "No," he says, trying to keep his voice even. "No I'm not."

"Well I guess you should come over then."

Harry nods against the floor, smushing his whole face into it now, completely unable to control himself. "I guess I should."

 

 

Louis lives in a building with concierge service. On the top floor. In a penthouse.

"You're, uh, rich," says Harry.

Louis, sitting on the island counter in his kitchen and swinging his legs lazily, scratches his chin. "Yeah, a bit. D'you want something to drink? I have soda. And champagne, I think. And rum. I always have rum."

"I'm fine," Harry says vaguely. He's wandering around the kitchen, looking at the top of the line appliances and the fancy furniture he can see through the doorway in the living room. "Aren't you like, a uni student?"

Louis snorts. "I told you I was. Don't you remember?"

"Yeah, but. Are you studying philosophy?"

Louis twists to look at him, impressed. "How did you know that?"

"The tree falling in a forest thing. That's like, a philosophy basic. And the existential crisis."

Louis grins. "I have Introduction to Philosophy on Thursday afternoons. You're very sharp, Harry!"

"But," says Harry, a bit lost. "But that isn't a field that pays very well."

Louis rolls his eyes and slides off the counter. "Were you expecting filth and squalor?"

Harry has the good grace to blush. He lets Louis grip him by the wrist and tug him into the living room. The telly is on a reshowing of a football game from 1998. Harry's still holding Louis's pink salon bag, two fingers curled in the handle. He sets it on the coffee table.

"Not squalor, just, maybe something a bit smaller?"

Louis waves a dismissive hand in the air, puts down his soda and pulls Harry onto the couch. Harry trips over his own feet, stumbles gracelessly. It's embarrassing but Louis just looks endeared. "What were you thinking, then? Little flat with tons of roommates?"

"Maybe. I had this image in my head of poor uni student Louis..."

"Cooper."

"Poor Uni student Louis Cooper, living in like, a studio with concrete floors and band posters on his walls, maybe some prints from local art shows at the university."

"You know not every student's life is what yours would've been if you'd not got famous, right? Dirty hipster."

"Oi!" Harry says, laughing. "I'm not _dirty_."

"You're positively filthy," says Louis. They're sitting very close together. Louis turns so he's sitting sideways, propping one of his legs in Harry's lap. "Look at you."

"I showered just this morning!" Harry protests. "Well, this afternoon. When I got off the phone with you."

"You are a dirty hipster and an unapologetic liar and a bad influence."

Harry laughs helplessly, and reaches for Louis with both hands, because he hasn't been able to touch at all and he wants to now. He coaxes Louis into his lap properly, knees on either side of Harry's thighs He's small and warm and lovely. Harry grips his hips and looks up at him, lip pulled between his teeth. Louis chuckles breathily and thumbs Harry's chin. "Manhandle and then get shy?"

"Not shy," says Harry. He squeezes Louis's hips, noses at his jaw and smirks when Louis gives a low, pleased hum, his fingers threading into Harry's curls. "You're the one who invited me over for groping. I'm just trying to go slow, be a gentleman."

Louis laughs, pulls back enough to see his Harry's face. His eyes are so blue and his long lashes so pretty. He's so pretty. Harry cups the back of Louis's neck, tilts his face up and catches Louis's lips with his own. It's light, just a graze, over and over until Louis shifts up Harry's lap a bit more and Harry wraps both long arms around him to tug him in close, until their chests are touching and Louis's bum is nestled right up against Harry's crotch. Harry swipes his tongue across the seam of Louis's lips and Louis parts them, coaxes Harry's tongue into his mouth. He's good at this, clever mouth and attentive with his hands, stroking his fingers through Harry's hair and touching his face, sweeping along his jawline and down his neck. He leaves trails of goosebumps on Harry's skin, and gives a lovely little gasp when Harry nips his lower lip.

Harry has always been a decidedly tender kisser. He likes slow and deep, feeling Louis's chest pressed up against his own, feeling his heart start to race. He cradles the back of Louis's head in one hand and strokes the other down his back, up over his side to curve around his ribcage. Louis's mouth is wet and soft, slack so Harry can press his tongue inside. He laps at the bottoms of Louis's sharp teeth, over the roof of his mouth. Louis makes a quiet sound in his throat and Harry cups his face in both hands, palms curling under his jaw, pressing his fingers into the hinges so Louis opens up just that little bit more. His small hands circle around Harry's wrists and he must be able to feel the flutter of Harry's pulse. He follows Harry's retreating tongue back into his mouth, tilts his head a little bit to change the angle and Harry leans his head against the back of the sofa, mind spinning, feeling winded. Louis's knees squeeze his thighs and the tip of his tongue drags up the vein on the underside of Harry's. When it fades Harry's breathless, so turned on it hurts. He's never been kissed like that in his life.

Louis touches their mouths together a couple more times, light and slow and sweet, and when he finally pulls back his eyes are dilated and wide and he looks a little lost. "God," he breathes, and Harry laughs breathlessly, untangles his arms from Louis's back so he can drag both hands up his back and hug him closer.

"Yeah, that was..."

"Hot," Louis says, and it's baser and less romantic than Harry was thinking, because Harry's lips are tingly and he feels like he's just been struck by lightning, but it's true. Louis shoves his fingers back into Harry's hair, almost agitated. "Was fucking hot, is what that was."

Harry gets an arm around his waist firmly and lifts him up, shudders at the surprised sound Louis breathes past his ear. Louis's thighs clamp around him, unbalanced as Harry get up onto his knees and twists them sideways, and then he drops Louis onto the sofa and stretches out over him and Louis tilts his head back and laughs, looking so pleased, and Harry feels like he might not make it out of this one alive.

"You're beautiful," Harry says. He doesn't mean to. He wants to mean to, so he says it again. "You're really beautiful, Louis Cooper."

Louis's still smiling. He cups Harry's face in his little hand and says, "I know, Harry Styles. I already know."

 

 

"Louis, this is Paul. Paul, Louis."

Paul is crossing his arms, perplexed, in front of the rental desk at the paintball place. It's not exactly a publicity thing, but since Liam asked Harry to go via Twitter brought security to help handle the fans who'd gathered outside. Paul isn't actually on their security team, of course, but he's the best paintballer in all the world, so they roped him into coming along.

"Hi Louis," he says. "Nice to meet you."

"Same, yeah," Louis replies. He rocks up onto his toes to make himself taller, and then grins. "You look a bit like The Hulk. Will you be on my team?"

Paul eyes him seriously. "Depends on how good you are. We try to keep things balanced. Harry is the worst—"

"Hey," Harry says, frowning.

"—so he's usually on my team."

"Am I doing this right?" Louis asks, and Paul grabs Harry and hauls him into a crouch as the paintball gun Louis's been provided goes off. There's a distinctive splat and a plaque on the wall of the rental office is splashed in green and shaking ominously. Louis clears his throat. "Oops."

Paul stands up and takes the paintball gun from him. "We'll put you on Zayn's team."

Louis grins. "Cool. He's good?"

Harry makes a face. "Not really. I mean, not at the shooting part, but I don't think he's ever actually been hit before. His team almost always wins."

"I _love_ winning," Louis says, and smiles up at Paul, who's apologizing to the attendant behind the desk on Louis's behalf. He's wearing a football kit that looks like it's seen better days, the collar of the top stretched out and the black of the shorts faded, clothes he must not mind messing up. It shows off his collar bones really well, anyway, and the tattoo across them. He looks really good. After an afternoon of snogging Harry's feeling almost sexually frustrated enough to crowd him up against the rental desk and drop to his knees. Luckily the other lads arrive before he can do anything of the sort.

Liam and Zayn stride in together, and then James and Rob, two of their security team, and then Niall and his friend Sean. Harry hasn't seen the lads in a few days, since their last appearance when they were all dolled up. Neither Zayn nor Liam have shaved since then. Harry grins at them all as they approach, and gives Niall and Sean both a hug, because they latch onto him as soon as he's within reach. They both smell like weed. Harry hopes they're on his team. He's rooting for Louis to win.

"Hazza!" Niall says. Harry pats him on the head and turns to find Louis, who's sort of ducked behind him.

"Hey, lads, this is Louis. Louis this is the rest of the band."

"I'm Niall's plus one," says Sean, shaking Louis's hand first.

"I'm Liam, nice to meet you," Liam says, grinning brightly.

"Sick tattoos, mate," says Zayn. "Can I see?"

"What shoes are those?" Niall demands. "I like 'em. Do I have shoes like that?"

Everyone looks down at his shoes, which are Vans the color of tennis balls. Louis looks at Harry, smiling a little uncertainly, and Harry pats his shoulder. "You get used to them, don't worry. Niall stop sniffing at his shoes."

"I'm not _sniffing_ at them!"

"Don't mind him, he's part terrier," says Sean. "Irish terrier."

Niall laughs like it's the funniest joke anyone's ever made. Zayn rolls his eyes fondly and slings an arm around him. "Louis's on my team," he says. "He looks wily. You're probably pretty good."

"Pretty shit actually," says Louis.

"S'all right," Zayn says, shooting Harry a lazy grin. "Haz is so awful you'll look like a right pro."

"Is there such a thing as professional paintballing?" Liam asks, eyebrows scrunched curiously.

"I really like your shoes, Louis," says Niall, and then he yawns.

Louis smiles at him."Thanks."

"Right," says Paul, walking over from the rental desk with James and Rob, paintball guns in hand. They distribute them, but when Louis goes to take his Paul stretches his arm up high so Louis can't reach. "You can't be trusted until we're on the course."

Liam laughs, and Zayn asks what happened. Paul points to the green-splattered plaque on the wall and Louis sighs, crossing his arms over his chest. Paul looks smug. "Zayn, you and Louis and Rob and Sean. I'll take Harry and Niall and James and Liam."

"That gives you one more than us," Louis points out.

"S'okay, man, they have to deal with Harry," Zayn says.

Louis laughs and looks around at Harry, who glowers. "Are you really that bad?"

"I'm sure there are people who are worse."

"Like, toddlers, maybe," says Liam.

Harry sighs, and they're all laughing at him. He adjusts the headband he's using to keep his hair off his face and shoulders his paintball gun. "At least I'm allowed to hold my gun indoors."

Louis scoffs. "I don't carry my own things, I'm practically royalty. Come along, Paul."

He starts toward the door to the attached warehouse where all the obstacles are set up, chin in the air. Harry watches his arse sway as he walks.

"I like 'im," says Liam, patting Harry on the back.

Harry grins, feeling all swoopy in his chest. "Me too."

Louis, it turns out, is _not_ shit at paintball. He's small and fast and difficult to hit, and a very steady shot. He nails Paul right in the heart fifteen minutes into the first round from the top of an old executive desk, glowing in the strobe light as he breaks into a ridiculous victory dance that makes Harry laugh so hard it's even easier than usual to hit him. Louis and Zayn work really well together, too, heads together and plotting before each round. Harry's team only wins once, at the very last game when all five of them corner Louis against a barrier of old lorry tires and knock him out first before they take on the others. Harry gets hit almost as soon as Louis's down, though, and instead of leaving the course like he's supposed to he crawls over to where Louis's lying on his back on the ground, catching his breath and glowing in blobs of orange and green all over him, laughing breathlessly. His paintball gun is shoved a bit away from him. Harry puts his down next to it and crawls over him. He's got paint all over his own neck and arm and his left hand. Louis tugs him down by the collar of his t-shirt and they snog right there, tucked into the corner behind the barrier of tires under the strobe lights and the bad techno music and the trash talk of the other lads.

"You're such a liar," Harry tells him, pressing kisses down Louis's jaw. "'pretty shit, actually.'"

"I'm a conman, Harry! Didn't I tell you?"

"Bet you are. You probably weren't even having a real existential crisis yesterday. You were just luring me in with your wiles."

"My existential crisis wiles," Louis agrees. "Absolutely."

"You're in this to swindle me out of my money, aren't you?"

"Take 'em rich, s'what I always say, leave nothing behind."

"And here I thought you really liked me, inviting me to your home and everything. Bet that posh flat isn't even really yours."

"Real owners will be back tonight," Louis says, sighing dramatically. "Best we stay at yours."

Harry grins against Louis's neck, pressing his fingers into Louis's sides. "That's the plan, then? Get me all liquored up so I bring you home? I'll wake up in the morning handcuffed to my bed, all my things missing?"

"Depends on how much I like your things, to be honest. You're a man of...questionable tastes."

Harry jabs him in the side and Louis squeaks. "You're horrible."

"The worst," Louis agrees.

"I'm gonna take you home tonight anyway."

Louis kisses him, wet and deep, just as Liam swears soundly and knocks into the other side of the tire barrier. "You're gonna try," says Louis.

Harry's always loved a challenge.

 

 

Louis's best friend in London is a gorgeous girl called Eleanor who's just graduated from university and is due to start a job at a prestigious London law firm. Harry meets her accidentally, two days after his and Louis's first night spent together, when he drops by Louis's flat because they've made lunch plans. She opens the door and stares, mouth open and pretty brown eyes very wide, and Harry's positive that he's got the wrong flat until he sees recognizes the life-size Spider-Man statue that Louis's inexplicably decided goes best in the back corner of the kitchen, which he can see over her head.

"Erm," he says, confused. "Hi."

"Oh my God," she breathes.

Harry has no idea what that means.

"El I can't find your bloody slip. Maybe if you and Luke had sex in your own flat, instead of in my guest bedroom, you wouldn't lose your—Harry!" Louis walks into the foyer and his face lights up with his smile. "What're you standing out there for?"

"Oh my God," the girl says, only this time her face is bright red and she covers her eyes with her hands. "This isn't happening."

"Hm," Louis says, and then grins at Harry again. "Come in, come in. This is my friend Eleanor. Her boyfriend and I play football together. She's a posh lawyer now."

"It's Harry _Styles_ ," Eleanor groans, ducking her shoulders. "Louis you _jerk_."

"I told you it was Harry Styles!" Louis says.

"I thought you were joking!"

"Why would I joke about that?"

"Well it was more likely you were joking than that you actually met Harry bloody Styles, wasn't it?"

Louis tilts his head. "Obviously not."

"Oh my God," Eleanor repeats. He finally drops one of her hands from her face and meets Harry's eyes. Her face is very red. She's really lovely.

"I'm sorry," he says.

"What for?" she asks.

Harry frowns thoughtfully. "I don't really know."

Eleanor laughs, and even though it's a bit hysterical it makes Harry feel a lot more comfortable. He shakes her hand and she smiles shakily at him. "I'm very normal I promise."

Louis snorts, and Eleanor elbows him in the chest hard enough to knock him back a step. Harry grins brightly. "I promise I am too."

They smile goofily at each other until Louis clears his throat and Eleanor rolls her eyes. "He doesn't like not being the center of attention."

"El, you want to come with us?" Louis asks her. He's collecting his keys and wallet from the kitchen counter. "We're just going to that little café place. Harry's never been."

"You should come," Harry tells her. "My mate Nick is meeting us too."

"I only care about Zayn," Eleanor says at once. Harry laughs.

"Zayn has a girlfriend," Louis says patiently. "And you have a boyfriend."

"I am all right with a threesome. And Luke can watch."

Louis frowns darkly at her. "As long as it's not in my flat you can orgy to your heart's content." He prods her in the side. "C'mon, you'll like Nick. He's a bit of a twat but he's funny."

"I do seem to be overly fond of those sorts," she says, giving Louis a pointed look that he doesn't see, because he's hopping around on one foot while he pulls one of his shoes on.

"Damn it, my other shoe is in the bedroom," he grumbles, and disappears into the depths of the flat. Harry's still standing in the hallway, so he steps inside and lets the door close. Eleanor eyes him thoughtfully. Harry's oddly nervous. He wasn't prepared to meet Louis's best mate, and he's a bit startled at how much he wants her to like him. He pushes his hair off his face and coughs into his hand to clear his throat.

"You're nervous," Eleanor says, and her whole body seems to relax a bit. "That makes me feel better. I hate feeling out of place, y'know? If I'm going to be nervous everyone else should be too."

Harry barks out a surprised laugh. "You're Lou's best friend, yeah? Shouldn't I be nervous?"

Eleanor smiles. "I'm round one. His _best_ best mate is his childhood friend Stan. He's in uni at Manchester. He'll be harder to please. My approval can be bought in iced lattes and nail polish."

"Noted," says Harry. Eleanor smiles even more brightly.

"You don't need to be nervous, really. He likes you."

"Oi!" Louis breaks in, walking back into the foyer. "No discussing me behind my back."

"Don't worry, we'll discuss you in front of your face, too."

Louis harrumphs and sidles up to Harry's side, knocking him with his shoulder as he shoves his keys and mobile into the pocket of his trousers. "Shall we?"

 

 

Harry wakes up the next Saturday morning to soft fingertips drawing haphazard over his back and his cheek pressed over Louis's heartbeat. He's in an awkward position, on his belly but angled up because Louis's sitting reclined against the headboard, and there's something digging into his side. His back is twinging, but Louis's so soft and warm and his fingers on Harry's skin feel so good that it's hard to make himself open his eyes. He can feel Louis's breath in his hair. He shifts a little and Louis hums softly, sweeping his hand up Harry's spine to massage at the base of his neck.

Harry groans, pleased, and turns his head to press kisses to Louis's chest, then reluctantly pulls himself up to see Louis's face. Louis's got his glasses on, and his copy of Leviathan is what's digging into Harry's side. He must've been up for a while, because he's wearing the pants that Harry'd peeled off of him last night and there's a cup of tea on the coaster on his nightstand. He smiles and leans in to give Harry a good morning kiss, and then makes a face.

"Gross."

Harry rolls his eyes, dropping onto his side and stretching out long, arms over his head and feet flexed until he squeaks, and then relaxes bonelessly into Louis's plush mattress. They're at Louis's this morning, because the film they went to see last night was at a cinema closer to his flat than Harry's, which was partially planned. Harry likes his house in Primrose Hill but is big and empty, he's hardly had time to furnish it, let alone add any personal touches. Louis's flat is lived in, and he's incredibly messy, clothes and shoes all over the floor. He has what must be a hundred different soaps and hair products in his shower and his bathroom sink is marked up with toothpaste stains. Harry loves it.

"How long've you been up?" he asks, voice catching. He clears his throat, coughs into his loose fist and sits up properly, sheets and duvet pooling around his waist. Louis checks the digital clock on the cable box underneath the TV mounted on his wall across from the bed.

"Half an hour, maybe. Tea?"

Harry makes grabby hands and Louis snorts softly and hands his mug over. It's wonderfully warm. Louis keeps his flat at just above freezing at all times for reasons beyond Harry's comprehension, and his tea tastes awful because he doesn't put any sugar in. but it's warm. Louis closes his book and yawns, hair rumpled and a livid love bite on his chest. Harry reaches out to touch it, swipes his thumb over the bruise. Louis quirks an eyebrow.

"Look at you," he says.

"What?" Harry laughs.

"So smug. Like it took some great skill to hoover your mouth all over me."

Harry tries to straighten out his expression but he can't drop the smug smile at all, so he hides it by taking another sip of Louis's foul tea. It's just as he's reaching past Louis to set the mug back down that he notices he's got something on his arm. He frowns and twists his shoulder to read properly, and then raises both eyebrows at Louis.

"Did you write Sixpence None the Richer lyrics on me?"

Louis clears his throat importantly. "Maybe."

Harry rubs at the words _lift up your open hand_. "In permanent marker?"

"Your Things I Can arm is too bare," Louis says, scolding. Harry tries to look stern but can't stop smiling.

"I'm leaving for Germany tomorrow."

Louis tips his chin up defiantly. "I was bored."

"I've got an interview. S'going to be recorded. And you've written all over my arm in permanent marker. And signed your name. With a smiley face."

"You have a tattoo of a _giant pirate ship_ on your other arm. Are you telling me you've signed an appearance contract now?"

Harry laughs, gripping Louis by the wrists and tugging him in close, falling backwards on the bed until Louis's braced overtop him, hot little body fitted just right against Harry. He touches his fingertips to Harry's cheekbone.

"I gave you a little bit of Kant, too," he says, like a secret.

Harry pulls his arm up between them to see, but just catches part of a quote _It is beyond a doubt_ and then a little ways below it, near his wrist, Louis's written his signature with a little happy face. Harry smiles up at him. "Put a little of you, too"

Louis squirms a bit, noses at Harry's cheek and then kisses him on the mouth. "Was testing the pen."

Harry kisses him quiet, winding his legs around Louis's hips and sinking back into the duvet, head at the foot of the bed. It's been nine days since he met Louis. It's the eighth morning in a row that he's woken up next to him.

It hadn't been a plan, really. Louis's had lectures and Harry's had to go into the studio with the boys to record, but at some point during the day, he'll call Louis or Louis will call him and they'll end up seeing a film, or hunkered down in a pub talking about Louis's current introduction to philosophy thoughts, or lying together in Harry's bed listening to music. One day they took the rest of the lads to the park and played football for hours, and another Louis drove them to the coast and they relaxed on the beach in their jackets and scarves, had a ridiculous little picnic and Harry told Louis all about the upcoming album drop and the worldwide tour and his mum's wedding plans.

They've spent every day together. They have an appearance late tonight and a six a.m. flight to Germany in the morning. They'll be gone for a week and a half. Harry pushes his bottom lip out into an exaggerated pout and cards his fingers through Louis's messy hair.

"I'm gonna miss you, pal," he says, and grins when Louis giggles breathily.

"I'm gonna miss you too, friend."

"I'll write you everyday," Harry promises, using Louis's finger to cross his heart. Louis's eyes crinkle with his smile and Harry pushes his glasses up his nose where they've slid down a bit.

"You can stick around here until this evening, right?"

Harry nods. "No reason to really leave the bed, even."

"Sure there is," says Louis. "I wanna fuck you in my kitchen."

Harry laughs and rolls them over, pins Louis down underneath him and kisses him breathless.

When he leaves later that evening, Louis walks him to the door. Harry's freshly showered and wrapped up in a hoodie with a beanie over his curls. Louis's wearing a long-sleeved t-shirt and briefs, looking sleepy. Harry's excited to perform tonight, but he wouldn't mind crawling back into Louis's bed and falling asleep before ten, either.

"Safe trip, yeah?" says Louis.

Harry nods. "I'll ring you when I get back."

They stare at each other for a few seconds in silence, and then Louis shifts his weight from one foot to the other, rolls his eyes and says, "Jesus Christ," under his breath. Then he hauls Harry in by the collar of his t-shirt for a kiss. "If I haven't replaced you by then I'll answer, s'all I can promise."

Harry laughs, grips Louis's chin and kisses him once, twice more, and then pulls him into a quick hug. "Be good, Lou."

"You too, babe."

Harry leaves before he talks himself into staying. On the way to the studio, he makes Rob pull over at a little hole in the wall tattoo shop and gets the little smiley face Louis put on his signature that morning inked into his skin. It's low on his wrist, will be hidden by the band of his watch and there's something appealing about that. Even if he never sees Louis Tomlinson again, he feels like his life has changed a bit. He'll keep this incredible week forever.

 

 

Germany is so incredibly busy from the moment they land that Harry can hardly remember his own name in time to say it. They're shuffled from interview to interview to signing to luncheon to label meetings to another signing to another interview before they're finally taken back to their hotel for a few hours sleep before they do it all over again the next day. It's exhausting and exhilarating and fun and Harry still makes time to text with Louis all day every day.

Louis is weird, which is a lot of his appeal, and Harry gets quirky little texts with what he's considering eating for lunch at a café on campus or his horoscope or whatever quote from whatever mainstream historical philosopher he's been ruminating on. They don't talk on the phone, and Harry's glad because it almost feels like too much, but Harry tells him all about the things he's doing and seeing with his lads and Googles some Nietzsche so he can sound like he cares more than he does about philosophy. It always makes Louis send him a stream of nonsensical emojis whenever Harry participates in his ramblings, heavy on the hearts and stars which makes Harry smile like a besotted idiot.

He got used to falling asleep next to someone so many nights in a row, and he has a bit of trouble falling asleep in his hotel room bed, and when he does sleep he has strangely vivid dreams that he has to tell Louis about right away when he wakes up. On their last day before heading back to London, he wakes up gasping for breath and shaking and reaches for his phone immediately.

_I was on the moon_

Helpfully, Louis sends him a moon emoji.

_it was bright and I didn't know I was there n I was drinking a beer w my mate Johnny n he pointed out that we were on the moon n then I couldn't breathe_

_scary :(_ Louis sends back.

_but it wasn't @ 1st not till he pointed it out._

_when does ur flight get in?_

Harry huffs. Louis's the worst dream interpreter ever. _23:00_

_bizzy 2mor?_

Harry grins, curling his toes under the blankets. _idk am i?_

Louis responds with a French fries emoji. Harry takes it as a yes and goes for a shower.

It's after midnight by the time Harry gets into the van at the airport to get home, and he feels both exhausted and strangely wired, like he's had too much coffee. He's tapping his feet against the plastic mats on the floor, grinning just a little at the sound of a girl positively shrieking _Harry I love you!_ right outside. He pulls his phone from his pocket and turns it on. He has several new emails and a zillion DMs on Twitter, and texts from his mum (welcoming him home), Cal (crowing about something hockey related) and one from Nick that says, _I've adopted you a kitten_.

Harry stares at that one for a few seconds. It wasn't sent long ago, and it's a weekend, so Nick will surely still be up. And even if he isn't Harry's going to wake him up. _r u joking?_

Nick has apparently been waiting for this, because he answers right away. He's also apparently been drinking. _nos hes so cuute ull love him were at your house yay_

Harry reads it three times, and then rings him. When Nick picks up there's a ton of noise in the background. "Harry!"

"Are you having a party at my house?"

"A get together! Just a little one!" Harry laughs. He can hear the telly and other people talking, and it doesn't help much when Nick yells at them loudly to be quiet. "A welcome home party!"

Harry shakes his hair out of his eyes. He looks like shit after traveling all day, but this sounds so much better than going home to an empty house. Nick knows him too well. "And you adopted a kitten?"

"I adopted him for you! We went to the county fair today and there was a petting zoo and adoptions and I saw him and he's perfect for you. Trust me, Hazza, I know what I'm doing."

"I'm leaving on tour in a few months," Harry tells him sternly. "And Niall's allergic to cats. I can't just bring it with me. _You're_ allergic to cats! Who's supposed to watch it while I'm away."

"You're thinking too much," says Nick. "Are you here yet?"

Harry laughs again. Nick is impatient at the best of times. "I'm barely out of the airport. I'll be an hour."

"Hm," says Nick. Someone in the background calls for him. "I told him! He doesn't care! Get off of that!"

A few seconds later the line goes dead. Nick's probably accidentally hung up on him. Harry rolls his eyes fondly and drops his phone onto the seat beside him, leaning his head back and closing his eyes.

It's just before one am when he gets home. He thanks the driver and grabs his luggage from the boot. Every light in his house appears to be on and through the window as he approaches he can make out Aimee and Cara in the kitchen. The Talking Heads are playing on his sound system when he walks into the foyer, and he drops his keys into the little bowl on the table by the door he usually keeps them in.

"Heeey, look who's here!" Nick says from his spot in the center of the sofa when Harry pads into the living room. There's about fifteen people, and all of them have face paint of some sort on. Nick has a giant dragonfly on one cheek, and Finchy next to him has a pig snout drawn over his nose. There there's Pixie, Ian, Aimee, Cara and Caroline, a guy with dark hair and glitter all in his quiff that Harry doesn't know and, on his arm, Eleanor.

It takes Harry a second to register that, and she turns to look at him while he's staring. "Harry!" she says, very drunk and apparently delighted. "This is Luke!"

He laughs and walks over, waving to a few people as he passes. She looks very pretty in jeans and a plain t-shirt, a butterfly on her cheek. He gives her a hug and shakes Luke's hand. "Nice to meet you, man, I've heard a lot of about you."

Luke laughs. "Not near as much as I've heard about you...Which is nowhere near as much as I've heard about Zayn."

"Have you met Zayn?" Harry asks Eleanor. Someone pushes a drink into his hand and he grins a thank you at Nick's friend Matt.

"No," says Eleanor, frowning darkly.

"You've got some weird friends," Luke says, though he looks almost fond about it. He's very fit and taller than Harry, but lankier, like Nick. "I can't believe I'm at a party with Grimmy in Harry Styles's house."

Harry shrugs, grinning. He takes a sip of his whisky and coke and looks surreptitiously around the room. If Eleanor and Luke are here, Louis must be too, because Nick and Eleanor got on fine at lunch a couple weeks ago, but not so well that Nick would invite her to a county fair.

"He's in the kitchen," Eleanor says, amused. Harry ducks his head sheepishly.

"No idea what you're talking about."

"I'm sure you don't," says Eleanor.

An arm drops around Harry's shoulder and he jumps, and then apologizes. It's only Nick, who pets him daintily on the head and grins. He's wasted. "Forgiven," he says. "How was Germany?"

"German." Harry checks Nick's jacket pockets, and Nick holds his arms out like aeroplane wings helpfully.

"What've I got?" he asks, very curious.

"I thought you said you adopted me a kitten."

Eleanor and Luke both laugh significantly harder than they really should. Harry frowns, not sure what the joke is.

"And you thought I'd keep it in my pocket?" says Nick, looking honestly baffled.

Something crashes in the kitchen. Harry frowns, worried someone's hurt themselves, but Nick says, "That'll be him!" and drags Harry through small crowds of people drinking and laughing while Harry stumbles along behind him. There are three people in the kitchen and several bottles of booze. Gillian, with glittery cheeks and fairy wings on her back is on the floor next to Henry, both of them laughing hysterically and obviously the source of the crash. The third is Louis, black whiskers painted across his face and the tip of his nose dotted pink, wearing cat ears and sitting cross-legged on the counter, playing with the fake tail strapped around his waist in his lap and laughing quite as manically as the other two.

"See!" Nick says excitedly, "I got you a kitten!"

Louis looks around and his face lights up in a smile when he sees Harry. He tries to hop off the counter and Harry has to rush over and catch him before he falls. Harry's not even drunk and he can't stop laughing, steadying Louis until his feet are firmly planted on the floor. Louis hauls him in for a hug. He smells like his expensive cologne and vodka and he looks so good and stupid and feels so good and familiar that Harry can hardly bear it.

"You're home!" Louis says happily, pulling away to see Harry's face. Nick is helping Gillian get to her feet, and Henry is occupied trying to stand himself. "Nick got me drunk and gave me a costume!"

Harry laughs, settling his hands on Louis's curvy hips. "He told me he'd adopted me a kitten."

"I'm a wildcat!" Louis argues, then bares his teeth. "Grrr."

"Ferocious," Harry agrees. "Get ya head in the game."

Louis tilts his head. "What?"

"Y'know. From the film. High School Musical...the Wildcats."

Louis gives him a lopsided smile. "Bedroom?"

Harry has no idea how that worked as a pick up line, but he'll take it. He grabs Louis's hand and tugs him through the swaying mob that is Gillian, Henry and Nick.

"I knew you'd be into pet play!" Nick shouts.

"Make sure nothing catches fire!" Harry yells back.

Louis's giggling, drunk and loose and apparently horny, his hand already trying to get down the back of Harry's trousers. Harry pulls him upstairs, down the hall and into his bedroom, and once the door's closed he pins Louis against it and kisses him. It's wet and hot and sloppy. When he pulls back the facepaint on Louis's cheek has smeared and he looks a little dazed. Harry's missed him so much more than is really reasonable.

"I'm gonna ride you like a cowboy," Louis tells him seriously.

Harry walks them backwards and collapses onto his bed. "Giddy up."

He wakes up in the morning with facepaint all over his fingers and Louis's fake tail on his chest, and Louis sprawled out next to him on his stomach, getting paint all over Harry's pillowcase, dead asleep. He's still wearing the cat ears.

 

Louis hosts a graduation party for Eleanor and Luke at his flat at the end of June. Harry doesn't recognize most of the guests, beyond Eleanor and Luke and a handful of guys that Louis plays football with in the park Sunday mornings. He doesn't get there until nearly one in the morning, and by then most everyone is very drunk, so he's not bothered much beyond some pointing and whispering, and Luke, who is taller than he is, jumping into his arms and smacking a kiss to his forehead. Harry laughs, spinning him once before setting him on his feet.

"Hey, congratulations mate."

"Cheers!" says Luke. He puts a drink in Harry's hand. It appears to be vodka (judging from the smell) and soda (judging from the bubbles). He knocks it back as fast as he can, wanting to catch up. Luke whoops loudly, pleased. "That's the spirit! There's some food in the kitchen if you're hungry. Lou and El are around somewhere. I'm quite drunk. I've lost a sock."

He points at one bare foot and Harry laughs rather harder than necessary, everything already a bit spinny. They had dinner with the label tonight and he had a couple drinks there, as well. He hopes Louis doesn't mind him crashing here tonight. Luke looks him up and down, eyes narrowing. "You're overdressed."

"I had a work thing," says Harry. It's a fair point though. He shrugs out of his jacket. He's pretty sure that he has a pair of jeans here somewhere, from the last time he went from recording to Louis's straight to a meeting the next morning. "I'll go change. Lou lock the door to his bedroom?"

"No, but he said he'd kill us if any of us went in there." Luke grins toothily, cheeks red from drink. Harry claps him on the back and winds his way through the crowd, shouting a hello to Eleanor across the room when they see each other. He slips down the hallway and pushes into Louis's bedroom. There are clothes all over the floor, as per usual, and his jeans are still folded neatly over the back of a squashy armchair in the corner. He toes off his shoes and takes off his smart trousers, folding them over the back of the chair to swap them for his jeans. He strips his shirt off, too, and is rifling in Louis's drawer for a t-shirt to wear when the door opens. He turns his head to grin at Louis, who holds a hand to his heart.

"A drink in my hand and a boy in my bedroom," he swoons.

"I'm borrowing this," says Harry, pulling out an old Rolling Stones t-shirt.

"You'll stretch it all out," Louis gripes. He closes the door and saunters over, only a bit unsteady. Harry tugs the t-shirt on anyway. It'll stretch over his shoulders nicely, he thinks. Louis stares at his chest and then wets his lips. Harry reckons it's a win. He takes the drink from Louis's hand and swallows about half of it down, and then sets it on top of the dresser and pulls a subtly pouting Louis in close to kiss him properly.

"Thief. Stealing my clothes and my alcohol. What's next."

"Your heart," Harry sing-songs. He dances Louis around his messy room in a horrible impression of a waltz. Louis giggles madly, clutching at Harry's arms, and Harry, already dizzy, tips them sideways onto the bed. Everything feels warm and good. He pats Louis's cheek graciously.

"You're good people Louis Cooper."

Louis scrunches his nose up. It's pretty cute. "It's the last day of Spring, Harry, did you know?"

Harry blinks. "No, s'it?

"Well it was. It's officially summer now."

"Yaaaaay," says Harry. He bites at Louis's hand when Louis covers his mouth.

"Shhh, it's _romantic_. Summer love."

Harry rolls his eyes. "You're hilarious."

"Think about it," says Louis. "We've only really got the summer left. In Autumn you're going to be off gallivanting around the world."

Harry makes a face. "I don't think I gallivant, really."

"I'll lose my standing on the internet. No one will ever talk about us anymore," Louis sniffles dramatically. He's really more like Nick Grimshaw than he'd ever care to hear.

"We'll just make it a summer to remember then," says Harry. It sounds like the best idea he's ever had. "The most romantic, hottest, sexiest, romantic...Did I already say that?"

"Yes."

Harry laughs, pushing Louis onto his back and climbing atop him, rubbing the tips of his nose against Louis's. "It'll be great."

"It'll probably be okay," says Louis. He grunts when Harry knees him lightly in the groin. "Okay, okay, it'll be great."

Harry kisses him. If they leave the room rather more dishelved than intended, well, the rest of the party is too drunk to know the difference.

 

 

Harry spent a lot of money on his rooftop garden when he first moved in. He hired a landscape architect and everything. It's really gorgeous, especially this time of year when the hydrangeas are in bloom in the bushes along the walls and the weather is warm enough even at night. There are twinkly lights threaded into the fence and along the legs of the three benches that encase a little courtyard, where Harry's got two chaise lounges and a couple chairs and a small table. It's mid-July and as beautiful a night as London ever has, if a bit chilly. Harry and Louis are stretched out side by side on the chaise lounges, passing a spliff between them. It's after midnight, and Harry spent the day recording in the studio and picked Louis up from the bookshop he's started working at (for no other reason than to fill time during the summer holidays, Harry assumes) on his way home. They've both been busy lately, haven't had time for more than a quick coffee together in over a week. Zayn's been giving Harry shit about pining and he's probably right to. He's just gotten used to having Louis around.

They ordered pizza for dinner, and the empty box is on the ground between them, beer bottles on either side of the ashtray and Harry's stash. Harry feels relaxed and settled, happy. He has a day off tomorrow and he hasn't had sex in over a week. He has high hopes for tonight. Pun intended.

Louis coughs suddenly, giggling when Harry startles. Harry rolls his eyes and sets the joint down in the ashtray. Louis hums, coughing again. Smoking always tickles his throat. "This is really romantic," Louis says.

"I'm a romantic guy," says Harry. Louis turns to look at him, goofy smile on his face.

"You are, aren't you?" He reaches over to poke Harry in his dimpled cheek and Harry catches his hand and brings it to his lips, kissing his knuckles like a Disney prince. Louis laughs loudly, head tilting back. He's wrapped in a hoodie of Harry's and loose trackies and he looks cozy and soft. Harry touches his upper lip, where Louis's been growing in a weird mustache.

"This makes you look like a French painter."

"Oi!" Louis protests, deeply offended. "It does not!"

"Does," says Harry at once. "Should buy a little beret to wear."

"Fuck you," says Louis, and Harry smirks and makes a kissy face at him,. Louis covers his mouth and Harry licks his palm. Louis, however, grew up with four little sisters and is undeterred.

"Oh hey," Harry says, remembering. He knocks Louis's hand away and sits up to dig his mobile out of his pocket. "We're playing the O2 in a week."

"Oh really? I hadn't heard."

"Shut up. Paul asked today if there was anyone we wanted to give backstage passes to and I signed you and your family up." He scrolls through his photos. "I know it's short notice, but just in case they can make it. Here, you said Daisy's favorite's Niall, right? I got him to take a picture next to the list so they'd know you weren't just teasing."

He hands his mobile to Louis, who's sitting up now too. Niall's holding up the backstage list and smiling hugely, holding a thumbs up at the camera. Louis stares at it for a long longer than is really necessary. He has a weird expression on his face when he meets Harry's eyes again. "You remembered all their names."

Harry grins. "'Course. I do actually listen when you talk, you know. Unlike some people who ordered me a dinner that could've killed me."

"Are you going to hold that against me forever?" Louis huffs.

"Forever and ever," says Harry.

Louis's not laughing anymore, and his grin is a bit awkward, which is something Louis's certainly never been before. Harry's about to ask him what's wrong but Louis clears his throat before he can. "This is really, really sweet Haz. But I don't think they'll be able to make it."

Is that all? Harry blows a raspberry, which at least makes Louis laugh a bit. "Don't be silly. Even if your parents are busy you could take them, yeah? I mean if they really want to go. I know we're no Justin Bieber but, like, you said they were fans. And they don't have to or anything, if it would be a pain for them to get down here, I just thought, y'know, it would be nice and there's four of them, surely one of them has a birthday coming up. I just—"

"They're dead," says Louis. It's sudden and not loud or upset and Harry almost rambles right through it, but he stops with his mouth forming around the word 'no'. Louis wets his lips and rubs at the back of his head. He hands Harry his mobile back, and Harry takes it perfunctorily. "They're, um. My family, I mean. They died."

Harry's stomach clenches. "Are you..." he stops himself before he says 'sure', because what a stupid question to ask, but Harry feels a bit like the floor's been pulled out from under his feet, and he's high, and this doesn't make any sense.

Louis scratches at his jaw, and offers Harry a comforting sort of smile. "I'm sorry. It never occurred to me you'd be as...as fucking amazing as you are, frankly."

"I'm." says Harry. "Louis."

"No, _I'm_ Louis. You're Harry."

Harry would laugh but his mouth is too dry. "How?" is all he manages to get out.

"A car crash. They'd bought a new car and the brakes were faulty. My dad swerved to avoid the car in front of him and hit the median and the fuel tank exploded before any of them could get out."

"Oh my God," Harry breathes. His eyes are burning. Louis's sitting with his hands folded in his lap and Harry's just holding his phone dumbly, trying to keep upright under the shock. "Oh my God."

"Yeah," Louis says.

"I'm so. Oh my God Lou, I'm so sorry."

Louis smiles, small but genuine. "Thanks."

Harry reaches for him, wraps his hands around Louis's small wrists. "Are you. God, are you _okay?_ "

Louis rolls his eyes a bit. "I'm fine. It was almost two years ago. It's just," he shrugs. "It is what it is, y'know? I'm sorry I didn't tell you. I wasn't trying to keep it from you or anything, it just. Never really came up. And I didn't want you to look at me like you are right now."

Harry can _feel_ how big and dewy his eyes are right now. He tries to fix it. "Sorry."

Louis grins, shuffles off of his chaise and into Harry's lap, straddling his thighs. Harry wraps both arms around him and hugs him close, hooking his chin over Louis's shoulder.

They're quiet for a while. Harry pushes his hand up underneath Louis's shirt to feel the warm skin of his back and touches his mouth to Louis's neck once before pulling away to see his face. "Why'd you change your last name?"

Louis shrugs, cupping Harry's cheek and rubbing the pad of his thumb under one of Harry's burning eyes. "Small town and a big news story, and since it was the car company's fault there was a legal case. I was being like, kind of followed around and stuff by media people. I had to change my mobile number and everything. My mate Stan, I've told you about him. His parents helped me get a lawyer and they helped me kind of, like, deal with the press part."

Harry swallows hard. "When Ana didn't demand to meet you I thought it was weird and asked her why, and she said it was because you'd had PR training before and knew how to say 'no comment'."

Louis lets out a little laugh. "I wasn't really sure that you didn't know, honestly. I figured your people would have had to dig everything up on me. S'not hard once you know my last name. It's their job, innit?"

"She wouldn't do that. She wouldn't tell me anything unless you were like, a serial killer or a sex offender or something. And you don't have a Twitter or Facebook. You're like a PR agent's dream."

"Except the part where we're fucking."

Harry snorts. "Y'know, they've actually been pretty okay about it?"

Louis slides off of Harry's lap to sit next to him, instead, bending over to pick up his beer and take a drink. "Yeah?"

Harry nods, reclining against the back of the chaise again, spreading his legs to settle them on either side of Louis, left foot in Louis's lap. "Yeah, like. I expected to like. I don't know, you hear rumors about the entertainment industry and like, I'm part of a brand, y'know? So I have to be sellable, and I expected to get yelled at for compromising my image, or whatever, but they just gave me a hard time about how it all came out, and even then they were still able to like, use it, so it didn't really matter."

Louis hums, massaging Harry's calf in his lap idly. "That's good, though. You sound disappointed."

Harry shakes his head, looking up at the sky as he gathers his thoughts. "Not disappointed. Just curious, I guess. If it'd been different if I came out as gay instead of bi. Ticket sales in America already went down twenty-seven percent. I get nasty comments a lot. I've gotten a few death threats from people who think I'm corrupting the children of the world, or something."

Louis makes a face, eyes narrowed. It's really touching and Harry doesn't know why. He pulls Louis down to lie between his legs, back of his head pillowed on Harry's sternum. He hooks his legs around him loosely, folds his arms over Louis's chest. It's comfortable, and significantly warmer.

"People are awful," Louis says eventually. Harry laughs.

"Not always. It's not as bad as I thought it'd be, to tell you the truth. I reckon it's kinda like David Bowie or Freddie Mercury."

"Did you seriously just compare yourself to—"

"Not like that," Harry argues, curling his fingers into Louis's sides until he squirms, ticklish. "Just the situation. Like, I said I like men and women both, but the tabloids are still hooking me up with women, mostly. Being bisexual is just something that quirky Harry Styles does. He'll end up married to a nice girl. They think it's an act."

"D'you want me to give an interview? I'd give a _great_ interview. I mean, I'm a certified expert in your sexual habits. I'd tell it like it is. Ten inches; I measured while you were asleep once. Really quite beautiful, s'far as cocks go. Still needs to work on stamina a bit but—"

Harry tickles him again, merciless, makes Louis laugh until he's nearly crying, curled up in a little ball between Harry's legs to protect himself. Harry only lets up once Louis's apologized. Louis's winded, breathing heavy as he settles back down, head dropping onto Harry's chest again. Harry wraps all around him, loose and comfortable.

"What's your last name, then?" he asks after a while.

"Mm?"

"If it's not Cooper. What's your real last name."

"Tomlinson."

"Tomlinson," Harry repeats, saying it slow and drawing out the vowels, just to test it out.

Louis tilts his head back to look up at him. "Are you going to Google me?"

Harry beams. "Absolutely."

He does, later that night curled up in his bed, Louis asleep next to him. He opens up his laptop and types Louis's name into Google. It brings up several articles and several pictures, some grainy pictures of Louis that are almost pap-esque, most different quality images of the car his family had been in. It makes Harry's eyes burn and his stomach flip unpleasantly, a mid-sized SUV that was probably once maroon, crushed and charred. The article says that his eldest sister, badly burned, spent three weeks in hospital before she succumbed to her wounds. His mum, dad and three youngest sisters were killed immediately.

Harry's legitimately crying a little bit by the time he finishes the article. He finds another one from almost a year later, about the settlement received from the car manufacturer. It doesn't state an amount, just that it's been finalized, but Harry can guess. Louis doesn't flaunt his fortune by any means, but his flat is gorgeous and he's an admitted perpetual student, changing courses of study whenever the whim takes him. He mentioned before that when he was growing up his family was a bit like the Weaslys in Harry Potter, never enough money to go around, changing date stickers on Tesco sandwiches to get them cheaper.

Harry wipes his eyes and looks down at Louis, asleep with his arm tucked around Harry's waist, face partially smashed into the pillow they're sharing. Harry strokes Louis's fringe off his forehead, feels a throb of fondness pulse through him when it falls immediately back into place. He closes his computer and sets it on the floor, shimmies down further beneath the blankets and coaxes Louis into his arms. They're not prone to cuddly sleeping because it's too hot, usually, but Harry can't help but feel a bit fragile on Louis's behalf, imagining losing his mum and sister and step-dad like that. Just the thought makes his chest feel hollowed out. Louis was only nineteen, Harry's age now. It seems impossible.

Louis snuffles sleepily against Harry's shoulder and Harry grins helplessly, grazing his fingertips up and down the curve of Louis's back until he falls asleep.

 

 

Liam ill is about the most heartbreaking thing in the universe. He's all pale and flushed with fever and curling up on the sofa in the common room outside the recording studio whenever they have a break. He doesn't _want_ to be sick, and they've been letting him get away with it for almost three days because he's just been trying _so hard_ , but Harry's fair certain he's got strep throat, and eventually they have to sit him down and tell him that his voice is atrocious and he needs rest.

Harry is nominated to take care of it, because he was texting during the band meeting (minus Liam) and missed out on Zayn and Niall both begging out because he wasn't paying attention.

"We're ahead of schedule anyway," says Sally, their on-site manager. "We can give all you boys a few days off."

That's really fucking appealing, to be honest. But Harry still doesn't want to tell Liam he has to stop working. "Shouldn't you be the one to tell him?"

"Absolutely not, he'll make those eyes at me and it'll start me off crying. I'll end up letting him record and it'll be a huge waste of money because he'll have to redo it once he's better."

Harry frowns. "All right, I'll tell him. I want to travel while we're off though."

Sally smiles. "Done. Why do you need my permission for that?"

"Because I wanna take Louis," says Harry.

Sally gives him a calculating look. Rumors of the nature of his and Louis's relationship have been going around for months, but well before he even met Louis he signed on for a bit of a publicity stunt whirlwind romance with Jennifer Lawrence that's supposed to take place in the fall just in time for their second Madison Square Garden gig. He's met Jennifer a few times at events he attended during the last tour, and he likes her very much and it won't be much of a hardship to spend a few months hanging with her. But taking his rumored boyfriend with him on holiday will admittedly look a bit fishy, since both his and Jennifer's PR team have started to spread rumors about their being in touch with one another, and it's not only Harry's reputation on the line anymore.

"Harry," Sally says, sounding tired.

"He's been whining about wanting to go lie out on a beach somewhere forever. I can rent out that place in Dubai Liam and Danielle did a couple years ago, it's totally private. I'm really good at staying unseen when I want to be, you know that."

Niall, helpfully, breaks into the chorus of Summer Lovin'. Harry elbows him in the stomach.

"This is awfully romantic, Harry," Sally says, looking a little amused.

"We're just friends," Harry assures her. Zayn snorts so loud he almost chokes. "Friends with...really, really good benefits," Harry amends. "Really good. In fact we probably won't even leave the bungalow."

"I don't need to know anymore," Sally says. "You're children, all of you, you don't even know what sex is. I'll let Paul know that you'll need security and a private plane."

"You're the best," Harry tells her.

"Mmhm. Go tell Liam he has to go home."

Harry takes a deep breath, squares his shoulders, and leaves the studio. He crosses the corridor into the common room, where Liam is looking absolutely pathetic, curled up in a little ball on the sofa, asleep with his mouth open, which isn't a thing he usually does. Harry clears his throat loudly and sits down next to him, rubbing at Liam's back.

"Liam. _Liam_. Payner. Liam Payne. Leemo. Li, Li, Li, wake up."

Liam frowns in his sleep, face scrunching up adorably, and then opens his eyes. They're blood shot and glazed. Harry puts a hand on his forehead unnecessarily. Anyone with eyes can see he's got a fever. His eyebrows are so expressive and his furrowed brow makes Harry want to scoop him up and kiss all over his face until he feels better.

"What?" he croaks. "Sorry, I fell asleep. Time for another run on Endless?"

"Time to go home," Harry says. He tries to sound firm but mostly sounds adoring. It's a thing that Liam incites in most people. Liam's frown deepens.

"Home? S'early, innit?"

"You're ill."

Liam uncurls at once, letting his feet drop to the floor and sitting up properly. He looks dreadful and he sounds even worse. "I'm fine."

"You're not even a little bit. You have a fever and there's something wrong with your throat. You need to see a doctor and spend a few days resting."

"A few days?"

"Yes. It's all agreed on. We're all taking a few days off until you feel better."

"I feel _fine_ ," Liam says, very cross. "We're almost finished with this song. Let's at least finish it up."

Harry takes another deep breath. He cups Liam's face in both hands and looks at him sternly. "Liam, I'm sorry, but you sound dreadful."

Liam's eyebrows shoot up and Harry very nearly apologizes, but holds it back just in time. "I don't," says Liam. "Do I?"

"I think you have strep throat. You sound like cats. Wounded cats in pain who aren't long for this world."

Liam's lips part. Harry wants to beg for forgiveness and tell Liam that he's wonderful and that his voice sounds like angels. And usually it does, he reminds himself. He's not telling Liam that he's out of the _band_ for God's sake. He's ill and he needs to rest and Liam shouldn't be allowed to look at him like this and make him feel guilty.

Luckily, after a few seconds Liam's lips pull into a little smile and then he laughs. It deteriorates immediately into wretched, wet coughing that's really rather disgusting. Harry is a good friend, though. He hugs Liam close and pats his back some more until it stops.

"All right," Liam says finally, breathing heavy. "Fine, yeah. Home sounds lovely."

Harry grins. He waits until Liam's stood up and made his way out of the room before he jumps up and rushes to the sink to wash his hands, at least three times.

 

 

Louis's sat on the floor at his bookshop, flipping through an entertainment magazine when Harry drops in to tell him his plans.

"I must admit, I'm very _in_ to you fulfilling my sugar daddy ambitions," he says.

"Don't be an arse," Harry tells him. "Do you want to?"

Louis's smiling like he can't help it. "Honestly, Harry, you're such a romantic."

"We made a pact, if you recall, to have a magnificent summer romance. I'm fulfilling an obligation."

Louis looks offended. "An _obligation_ ," he demands. "Fuck you very much."

Harry shrugs. "If you're going to be my kept boy you really need to work on your tone, love."

Louis laughs out loud, closing his magazine and putting it back on its shelf. "You're ridiculous."

"Private beach, Lou. You can sunbathe naked. No tan lines."

He knows Louis loves the idea. Louis sighs. "I'll have to take off work."

"Molly adores you, she won't mind. If you don't want to go..."

"Oh shut up, of course I want to go."

Harry smiles wide and stands up. "It's top secret. We'll probably have to take separate cars to get to the airport. Either way, you'll be picked up at yours around eight-thirty."

"Mmhm," says Louis. He's trying to look unaffected but he just looks pleased and sort of flattered instead. It's really sweet. Harry wishes he could kiss him. Louis kicks him lazily in the knee. "Get out of here, Styles."

Harry stands up, knees cracking. Louis pulls a silly face at him and he pulls one back, and then says goodbye to the shop owner Molly on his way out the door.

This is going to be great.

===============================

 

From here it was going to be this big dramatic thing with misunderstandings and Harry having a bit of a breakdown because tour is really rough on him and Louis pulling back because he's starting to get unwanted attention once someone sleuths what his real name is and his story, but quite honestly I sort of suck at misunderstandings and this has been in my gdocs for like a year and I'm officially not going to finish it. However! Assume they rode off happily into the sunset forever more. :)


End file.
